by C. L. Wilson
What if she wasn’t demon possessed as Mama feared, or some Fey foundling hunted by the Mages as Rain believed? What if the Shadow Man had been telling the truth—that she was an unwitting carrier of some malignant evil—and all the recent events were just signs of that cursed seed within her finally coming to life?
All her life she’d sensed a dark, fierce something deep inside her, a terrible something that frightened her even more than the Shadow Man. She’d battled it from earliest childhood when the terrible seizures and visions consumed her. Even now, she could feel it, crouching, a subtle tension coiled deep and tight, waiting for an opportunity to spring.
“Oh, Ellie, good, you’re back.” Mama’s voice drew Ellysetta away from her dark thoughts. She looked up to find her mother standing by the back door. “Master Fellows is here.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Ellie forced a smile to her lips. “I’ll be right in.” She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and headed inside to greet the queen’s Master of Graces.
When Rain would have followed Ellysetta inside, Bel put a restraining hand on his arm. “A moment, Rain,” he murmured. He waited until the door closed behind Ellysetta before speaking. “I’ve not heard from the two warriors I sent to Norban.”
Rain’s spine stiffened. “Sian and Torel?”
“They’ve not checked in since yesterday afternoon, nor answered my weaves.”
Rain knew the two Fey. Both were responsible men and good warriors. Not likely to miss a scheduled report—and even less likely to ignore their commander when he called. “Keep trying. Torel’s brother is with us in the city, is he not?
“Aiyah, Tiar is here.”
“Have Marissya go to him.” If Torel was alive, Marissya would sense feelings along the link where even brothers could sense only thoughts. If there was nothing, Tiar would need the comfort of a shei’dalin to help him control his grief until he returned to the Fading Lands where he could deal with his loss properly. “And dispatch a quintet to Norban to look for them.”
Rain joined Ellysetta inside. Master Fellows, the queen’s elegant, impeccably dressed Master of Graces, was already there, murmuring his approval as he circled Ellysetta and eyed her saffron gown with a critical eye.
“Not bad, my lady. Not bad at all. Some might say the clothes don’t make the queen, but as I’ve always maintained, they certainly do help her radiance to shine.” Gaspare Fellows tutted over the dagger at her waist. “That, however, I recommend you do without.”
Ellysetta’s hands closed around the hilt of Bel’s bloodsworn Fey’cha. “No.” The denial popped out before she could stop it, and she took an instinctive step backwards, closer to Rain.
He laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “It’s a Fey queen you’re training, Master Fellows. The blade stays. It’s a symbol of great honor and an invaluable protection.”
“I see.” The Master of Graces frowned but gave in. “Well, the dagger stays, then, of course. All cultures should honor their customs.” He cleared his throat. “And how did last night’s dinner go?”
A betraying blush flooded Ellysetta’s cheeks, and she cast a desperate glance up at Rain.
Master Fellows pressed his fingers to his lips. “Sweet Lord of Light. That badly?”
“Ellysetta did very well.” Rain took Ellysetta’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Any…difficulties…were outside of her control and did not reflect badly on her.”
“Difficulties? Ah. I had noticed something strange in the palace air today.” Master Fellows paused, but when it was apparent no further explanation was forthcoming, he smoothly changed the subject. “Well, let’s just make sure there are no difficulties in future. The best way I know to do that is to ensure your presentation is so queenly none will dare reproach you. Your next scheduled public appearance is Prince Dorian’s betrothal ball. You’ll need to be able to dance and converse with flawless polish.” His finger wagged a caution. “I warn you, these next days of preparation will be far more difficult and demanding than our previous sessions. There’s much more for you to master, and I will be a harsh taskmaster. My lord Feyreisen, if you will, please.” He tapped his temple.
Rain summoned Spirit and wove a light weave to gather the instructive images from Master Fellows’s mind, and for the next several bells, Rain devoted himself to guiding Ellysetta through her newest exercises in the Graces, using Master Fellows’s detailed mental instructions. But throughout the lesson, his mind kept returning to Bel’s perturbing report about Sian and Torel.
Two experienced warriors sent north to investigate the mystery of Ellysetta’s existence were missing. Even without Shadow Men and wandering souls and Adrial’s illness, that was cause for concern. Fey warriors did not simply…disappear. One too many troubling events had happened—and all of them circling far too close to Ellysetta for his liking.
When Ellysetta’s lessons were concluded and Master Fellows had departed, Rain wasn’t long behind him. He stopped at the warriors’ barracks to check on Adrial—who was awake and claiming he was fit enough to return to his position in Ellysetta’s quintet—then joined Marissya and Dax in their palace suite.
The shei’dalin confirmed Adrial’s self-assessment. “I couldn’t find anything wrong with him, Rain. Your shei’tani expunged his memories. They are completely gone, with no trace for me to follow.”
“He wants to return to his duties.”
She hesitated, then said carefully, “He’s a good man, Rain. And I found no hint of evil in him. Whatever afflicted him, I don’t think it was Eld.”
“Would you want him in your quintet?”
“Let him stay here for a few days so I can watch him,” Marissya said. “If he shows no signs of trouble, then let him rejoin her quintet. There are enough warriors on guard around her home to watch him closely. If you are uncomfortable with that, then yes, he can join mine. Ellysetta can have Soren. His skills are a close match to Adrial’s.”
Dax frowned at his truemate. A mated Fey would face an army of Mages, demons, and Drogan Blood Lords with less fear than the thought of harm besetting his shei’tani.
“I will think on it,” Rain replied. “What of Torel?”
Marissya’s eyes filled with sorrow, and she shook her head. “I could find nothing. He and Sian are gone. I wove peace and sleep on Tiar, but he should not remain here. Torel and he were close, and he’s taking his brother’s death badly.”
“Send him home, then,” Rain said. “With a quintet to ensure he finds his way. The last thing we need at the moment is a Fey warrior running around Celieria seeking blood vengeance.” He turned to Dax. “How many Celierian supporters did we lose after last night?”
“Six of the thirty we were hoping to sway have told us outright they won’t support us, and two of the lords we were counting on have now turned against us.”
Rain scowled. “They fear our magic, yet they would let the Dark God’s own servants pour across their borders? Where is the sense in that?”
“Don’t expect sense from them, Rain,” Dax said. “It’s been a thousand years since they saw the true face of evil. They’ve grown complacent, so accustomed to peace and freedom they think nothing can ever take it from them. So they see enemies where they should see strength and friendship, and they plot to make friends of our enemies in order to better control us.”
“Were you not the one who just a few days ago suggested we should allow the trade and use it to send spies into Eld?”
“I know. I know.” Dax heaved a frustrated sigh and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “And at the time, I thought I was right. But Marissya and I have just spent the last three days with Dorian’s courtiers, and the better part of today interrogating the lords openly. There is a disturbing distrust and even outright animosity towards us. The dahl’reisen attacks in the north are partly to blame, but Marissya and I both think it’s more than that.”
“Then you are beginning to believe the darkness I sense in Eld is real? That the Mages are indeed at wor
k once more?”
“I’m beginning to think it’s a strong possibility. Lord Teleos has arranged a private dinner for you and several of the nobles tonight at his city residence. And Lord Barrial sent word that he’s available to meet with you.”
“Excellent.” Rain was very interested in the Celierian Great Lord who wore a Fey Soul Quest crystal and housed twenty-five of the feared dahl’reisen on his lands. “Is there anything else?”
“Lord Morvel has withdrawn his betrothal offer.”
Rain gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Well, that at least is as much good news as bad. Ellysetta will be relieved, and in truth, so am I. There is no compassion in that human ice pick’s soul. He will never be a friend of the Fey.” He drew a deep breath. Much as he didn’t like Morvel—or most Celierian nobles for that matter—he couldn’t afford to lose what few potential allies he had. “I’ll speak to Morvel tomorrow and try to smooth things over.
“As for the rest,” he added, “Bel has sent a quintet to investigate Sian and Torel’s disappearance. Let’s send another two north to look into the other attacks. If dahl’reisen really are to blame, we need to put a stop to it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Rain followed Cannevar Barrial’s manservant to the northwest corner of the walled palace grounds where Lord Barrial and his four sons were occupied with archery practice.
The Great Lord wore golden brown leathers cut in plain lines that might have made him seem a simple man were it not for the glowing luster of the leather and the glint of decorative gold studs. His dark hair was caught in a leather band at the nape of his neck. His face was in profile, his concentration complete as he drew back the taut sinew of an Elvish bow. He did not wear a bowman’s finger rings, Rain noted and was duly impressed when the border lord still managed to draw the bowstring back behind his ear. Not an easy thing for a man to manage when the bow was Elvish and crafted of indomitable hartshorn wood.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, my lord Feyreisen,” Lord Barrial said, proving that his concentration was not so complete as Rain had thought. Still, the Celierian never took his eyes from the tiny circular target far, far in the distance, and when he let loose the bowstring, his notched arrow flew swift and true to its center.
“Impressive shot.” Rain nodded at the carved bow in Barrial’s hands. “And a fine bow. Made by craftsmen of the Valorian Mountains, if my memory of Elvish symbols serves me.”
“Your memory is good.” Lord Barrial smiled. “Galad Hawksheart gifted this bow to me at First Hunt when I turned sixteen.” Behind him, Lord Barrial’s sons each let fly with his own arrow, and to the last, each hit his target dead center.
“Hawksheart?” Rain’s brows rose. The Elf King was not unknown to him. He’d led the Elves into battle during the Mage Wars and guarded an ancient Elvish prophecy called the Dance. “You keep fine friends, Cannevar Barrial. Do you call a Song in the Dance?”
Lord Barrial laughed. “No, thank the gods. I just shake my feet to the tune like the rest of the world.” He handed the bow to his manservant. “My relation to Hawksheart is a simple one: We share ties of kinship through my mother’s family. I spent my childhood in Elvia after my parents were killed.”
“Ah.” This man grew more interesting by the moment. Royal Elvish blood, dahl’reisen friends, and a sorreisu kiyr around his throat. Cannevar Barrial might not call a Song in the Dance, but Rain would bet his last blade he at least played a Harmony.
Lord Barrial stepped away for a moment to murmur something to his oldest son. The young man nodded, and a few chimes later, he and his brothers began to pack up their gear. Lord Barrial walked back to Rain. “I understand you’re dining with Teleos tonight,”
“I am. Will you be joining us?”
“No, I promised my sons I’d take them hunting since Council is out of session for the next two days. We’re riding for Kingswood in a few bells.” He grimaced and confided, “I’m avoiding Lady Thea. She, unfortunately, was the nearest unattached woman when your truemate spun her weave last night, and I think she read more into what followed than there was.”
“My truemate’s weave, Lord Barrial?” Rain tried to sound confused.
The border lord arched a canny brow. “I’ve enough Elvish in me to know magic when I see it. Especially when it grabs me by the cock and doesn’t let go for seven scorching bells. If you recall, I was sitting directly across from your lady. As she was the only one not shedding clothes and those crystals of hers were glowing, it wasn’t hard to identify the guilty party.”
“Ah.” Rain fought the urge to scratch a sudden itch behind one ear. At least, Lord Barrial seemed to be taking the weave in stride. “My lady has an unusually strong…affinity for keflee, and a strong gift in Spirit. Add to that five sorreisu kiyr and a bit too much pinalle, and…well, you saw the results. There was no ill intent, I assure you. She did not know what she was doing.” He met Lord Barrial’s gaze and held it steadily. “I would consider myself indebted, Lord Barrial, if you would keep the source of the weave a secret between us. Ellysetta already has a steep enough path to climb to gain acceptance from the noble Houses.”
Lord Barrial grinned. “No debt needed. The memory of Morvel chasing his wife round the room like a chicken is more than enough payment for my silence.” He laughed and clapped Rain on the shoulder, “Come, walk with me, and ask your questions. I’ll give you what answers I can.”
“Tell me about the dahl’reisen,” Rain prompted as they walked through an avenue of stately, arching fireoaks.
Cannevar smiled. “I thought that might be among the first of your questions. Oh, I’ve heard all the rumors and listened to the ‘proof’ Sebourne and several others offered yesterday in Council, but I still find it hard to believe. Dahl’reisen have protected my family for centuries. And for all the bogey stories about him, Gaelen vel Serranis avoids contact with mortals.”
“At the dinner, you said you’d met him.”
“Ta. Twice. The first time was when I was a lad of five. Elden raiders attacked my family as we were returning from a wedding celebration at a distant cousin’s estate. They killed my parents and were coming after me when a man appeared out of nowhere. He wore Fey steel and killed ten Eld in moments, as swiftly and skillfully as I’ve ever seen any being kill.”
“You are sure it was Gaelen vel Serranis?”
“Black hair. Pale blue Fey eyes with all the color and warmth of glacier ice. A scar bisecting his right eyebrow. Here”—he held out a hand—“take the memory to confirm it.” When Rain hesitated, Cann said, “It’s all right. I know the Fey can read thoughts through touch.”
“I will not search,” Rain vowed, “and I will try not to touch more than surface thoughts. Just think of the man you saw. Try to picture his face in your mind.” Rain reached out to clasp the Celierian’s hand.
The moment Fey pale skin slid over darker Celierian bronze, Cann’s thoughts began to flow into Rain’s consciousness. They didn’t come in a flood, which proved Cann had stronger mental barriers than most of his countrymen, and most of the thoughts that did trickle through were related to Gaelen and the current situation: Why do the dahl’reisen protect my lands but attack others? Why did Gaelen vel Serranis save my life and come to warn me that darkness is rising in Eld? Is there something behind Rain Tairen Soul’s visit that—
The last thought was cut off abruptly, and Cann quickly filled Rain’s mind with a very strong image of a Fey warrior’s face.
Even expecting it, Rain felt his gut clench at the image of the infamous, familiar face of the once-celebrated Fey warrior: Gaelen vel Serranis, now called the Dark Lord. It was Gaelen whose blood-drenched vengeance for his twin sister’s death had catapulted the world into the Mage Wars. Long black hair framed a stern, humorless face dominated by piercing, ice-blue eyes. A long, curving scar started two inches above the right temple and slashed across his forehead to bisect his right brow. No Fey became scarred except dahl’reisen, and, except for deep, mortal wounds, even t
hey only scarred when they made the kill that tipped their souls into darkness. Rain remembered Marissya’s shriek of agony when her brother returned to the Fading Lands with that telltale mark on his face. He remembered the bleak despair on Gaelen’s face when she and the rest of the Fey women fled from him and the unbearable pain of his doomed soul.
Rain released Cann’s hand, and the image faded. “If that was the Fey you saw, it was indeed Gaelen who saved your life as a child.”
Cann nodded and murmured softly, “I remember how fast he moved, how quickly and effortlessly he killed the Elden raiders. The last thing I remember, he was crouching over me, telling me I was safe. I must have passed out then. When I woke, I was alone. There were no bodies, no blood, just an empty field, a scorch mark on the grass, and my father’s ring on a chain around my neck.” Cann twisted the heavy signet ring on his right hand. “I still wish he’d left their bodies, so I could have had something to bury.”
Rain knew the pain of loss all too well, and he knew the hollow ache of a loss that left nothing to hold, no way to say final good-byes. “Gaelen would have burned the dead so their souls could not be called back by Elden Mages,” Rain said, wanting Cannevar to have at least that small comfort. “He did what was best for them, and for you.”
“Did he? I never realized that.”
“There is much your people no longer know, particularly regarding magic and magical races. The Eld freely use Azrahn, the magic we Fey have forbidden amongst ourselves. It is a dark and dangerous magic, too easily misused and too seductive a power for even Fey to wield without risk of abuse. You Celierians think we warn you against the Eld just because they and the Fey decimated one another a thousand years ago, but that is only a small part of the reason for our distrust of them.”
The avenue of oaks opened to a small stocked fishpond. Rain bent to pick up a small stone and sent it skipping across the surface of the water. “Why would the Eld have killed your parents?” he asked.